If you’re a movie blog reader, I would assume that you have a better taste in movies than most. Aassuming this, if you saw the trailer for Big Mommas: Like Father Like Son you probably scoffed and averted your eyes. Perhaps you vomited uncontrollably and are preparing a class action lawsuit against 20th Century Fox for unleashing this on an unsuspecting populace. Regardless, I’m here to tell you that Big Mommas: Like Father Like Son is not only as bad as it looked from the trailer, it’s even worse than that. Unfunny, lazy, and frankly insulting, it’s nothing more than a studio desperately trying to make money by milking a property that frankly no one has cared about in over 11 years. That’s not even getting into how the third movie in a series is usually the worst. A third in a series based on a property that no one even really likes? That’s Hollywood for you.
Martin Lawrence slums it as low as he can returning as Malcom Turner, the FBI agent and “hero” of the first two films. His stepson Trent (Brandon T. Jackson) is about to graduate high school and has been accepted to Duke University which Malcolm loves since that’s where he graduated from. Trent, however, is more interested in becoming the next greatest hip hop artist, rapping under the name Prodi-G (get it?) and getting a contract to go on tour in the fall by someone we never meet or hear from again or anything. The hitch is he is a minor so he needs Malcolm to sign it as his guardian. Malcolm is resistant, so Trent decides to follow him on his FBI job and accidentally witnesses the murder of his father’s inside man at the hands of a vaguely Russian gangster (Tony Curran).
After they escape, Malcolm realizes there’s a leak within the FBI (whom we never see) and realizes he and Trent have to go undercover. Luckily, he knows just the thing and say it with me people: FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT SUUUUUUUUUITS. As Big Momma and her grand-niece Charmaine, the two hide out in an Atlanta all-girls school for the arts that serves a dual purpose: keep them away with from the Russians looking to murder them and because the thing the gangsters are actually looking for, a flash drive that would implicate them in countless illegal deeds, is hidden somewhere in the school. How convenient movie worlds are, eh? Throw in a subplot where Trent falls for one of the girls (Jessica Lucas) and you got yourself a movie. Supposedly. I’d beg to differ though.
There’s just very little to redeem here. Lawrence is clearly doing it for the paycheck and his heart is not in it whatsoever, so any “jokes” he tries to make are just flat and without enthusiasm (not that they are that clever either, but I digress). The main plot is generic and just there as an excuse for fat suit shenanigans, with the gangsters spewing generic gangster lines. The characters are as one dimensional as you can get and betray their arcs regardless; the supposed “queen bee” ballerina girl (played by Portia Doubleday) threatens Big Momma and says she “runs the joint,” but never runs anything and is ineffectual to the story. She even gets a mini-redemption arc which isn’t earned because she barely did anything that needed redemption besides make evil eyes at Big Momma for five minutes of the movie! We won’t get into the cafeteria dance/song number that had to happen since they are at an arts school; it just happens, we’ll leave it at that.
And Brandon T. Jackson. Poor, poor Brandon T. Jackson. It looked like he was going to go somewhere after standing out in 2008’s Tropic Thunder, but since then he has barely shown up in anything. But you know what? In this sea of atrocity, he stood out as someone who sucked less than the rest. He seemed like he was actually trying, using whatever abilities he has to rise above the material. The material just sucks too much for it to work and he gets sucked down with the rest of the cast and crew. At least he can use it to promote his hip-hop career, since part of me feels like he took the role because he was going to be able to show off his skills.
Look, it didn’t take a genius to know that Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son was going to be wretched and it doesn’t let anyone down in that regard. Flat script, no laughs, a tired premise that devolves lower than the worst of the genre; mix them together, and you’ve got the most painful moviegoing experience of the year so far. I know Hollywood is desperately trying to fill its coffers by making sequels to everything it possibly can. Make sure you don’t let them win and avoid this like the plague.
